The landlord grumbled violently. “No steel, by God! I say. I’m master here.” He was already out of temper, and, glancing up, found a timely butt for his wrath in the figure on the balcony. With an exclamation of fury, he heaved his shoulders through the mob until he came under.
“Here, you!” he roared. “Who let your ladyship out of duress?”
She nodded and smiled down.
“A hairpin,” she said. “I managed to pick the lock with it.”
She was young—almost a child, with blue eyes laughing in a saucy face. From under a black whimple, set coquettishly on her head and garnished with a sprig of rosemary, filched from the kitchen, hung thick brown curls over dolly-pink cheeks. A deep-falling collar, quite plain, was set about her slender throat, and loosely knotted into it was a tasselled cord. An underskirt of stone blue, and an upper one of brown, bunched at the tail into a little pannier, completed a very attractive picture. Hamilton, his attention drawn to it, sat up, interested and mollified at once.
“Then,” cried the landlord, with an oath or two, “you’ll e’en return whence you came, or I’ll bring the law on you for house-breaking! Bing-awast! Back you go to your chamber, bobtail!”
The lady nodded again, pursing cherry lips; and prompt the answer came from them—
“I’ll see you damned first!”
The crowd bawled with laughter; but the landlord, purple in the face, turned to storm the heights by way of a flight of steps which gave access to the balcony from the yard corner. Before he had well started, however, Hamilton’s voice stayed him—
“Hold, vintner! Steel or no steel, I take up this quarrel!”